Hatred in Her Heart
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Set around the events of "Skin Deep." In which Maleficent tries to comfort Regina, who is having none of it, to say the least.


Hatred in Her Heart

Summary: Set around the events of "Skin Deep." In which Maleficent tries to comfort Regina, who is having none of it, to say the least.

"So my dear, how you are holding up?"

It's become a familiar ritual with them, these visits, and all this gently taunting and jibing each other. Regina has long since lost her 'touch of innocence,' and Maleficent has become more jaded than ever, but still, underneath, there is a measure of true affection and genuine concern for each other.

They are friends, after all. Of a sort.

"Just fine, thank you." Regina accepts the offered drink and gives her fellow sorceress a cool smile.

"I imagine it's been difficult, since …"

"Since Snow slipped from my clutches again? No need to worry for me on that front, I assure you. I'll have the matter well in hand soon enough. After all, you know me and I'm –"

"Nothing if not persistent," Maleficent finishes for her. "Yes, I know. But actually, I wasn't referring to your stepdaughter."

"Oh?" Regina is genuinely puzzled. "What were you talking about then?"

Maleficent opens her mouth to reply, but then closes it. She seems strangely reticent for once.

"What is it?"

"It's just that … I heard our … mutual acquaintance … made an interesting bargain, recently. And that he acquired – "

"A serving wench?" Regina forces a laugh. "You think I care about _that_? Please."

Maleficent eyes her carefully, gauging her sincerity. "I heard he's kept her around for some time now."

Regina shrugs, precisely as if she has _not_ watched the whole maudlin scenario play out through her mirrors.

"I heard he's going growing fond –"

"Stop." There it is, what she wants to hear. That note of pain in her voice. Maleficent is glad, but not because she relishes Regina's suffering. She knows all too well how repressed feelings can stunt and blacken a heart, as they have done to her own. And she doesn't want to watch that happen to someone else.

Well, at least, she doesn't want to watch it happen to her friend.

Regina needs to let the poison out.

"Regina –"

"You promised, Maleficent," the Evil Queen says sharply. "You promised me you would never speak of … _him_. Not unless I brought up the subject first."

"I promised, old friend, that I would never speak his name unless you did. And I haven't."

"Semantics." Regina waves a hand.

"Funny, wasn't _he_ the one who told you precise wording was the key to every deal?"

Regina grits her teeth. "We're not having this conversation –"

"You know, he probably only keeps her around because he misses –"

"Stop it, stop it!"

Regina rises up and directs a blast of magical energy at her. Maleficent deflects it easily, and counters with one of her own. For a time, they battle, trading blows instead of barbs, a deadly and intimate dance.

"Do you want to keep going, or do you want to talk?"

"_Why_ are you pushing this?"

"Because I can see you're in pain, and you need to let it out!"

"Pain?" Regina gasps. "_Pain _was watching Daniel's heart being ripped from his body by mother! Pain was the resurrection that _he_ made me think had failed, when the truth was it hadn't even been attempted!"

"Nothing can bring back the dead Regina! He was trying to spare you –"

"That's not true! Jefferson told me Frankenstein brought his brother back –"

"And he was a monster, a _mad dog_ that he had to put down! He had to suffer the pain of losing him all over again!"

"It was my choice! He had no right! I _hate_ him!"

"Do you? Do you really?"

"Yes!" She screams. "I hate him, I hate him!"

And oh gods, she does. It's the truth. She does hate him, more than she can ever say.

She hates that while Daniel's kind face and sweet kisses grow dim and distant in her mind, she can still recall with perfect clarity every moment that _his_ lips were on hers. She hates that every lesson, every touch, every moan and sigh and sensation of pleasure is _seared _into her memory, the memory of a passion she was never able to share with her true love.

She hates how clearly she remembers the times he seemed more human, the times he soothed her sadness and her fear. She hates how he told her they belonged together, and she _hates _how he told she always smelled like apples (and that he rather liked it). She hates that he made her feel powerful and wanted and _safe _and free. She hates that she can't use magic without thinking about him.

She hates hates _hates _that he called her his wicked one. She hates the way he whispered it, all soft and silken in her ear, just before he thrust himself inside her, before he joined their bodies and took all her pain away as he made her scream his name.

_My wicked one_, he'd whispered, as she'd moaned helplessly, writhing in his arms. _My wicked one. Regina, my Regina … you _are_ mine, aren't you? Say it, I want to hear you say it. I _need _to hear you say it. Just once. Just once._

_Please._

She hates that part _so much._

And she hates that, one particular night, after their passion was spent and she was sure he was sleeping, she put her trembling lips to his ear and whispered the words:

_Yes. Yes, I'm yours. Always, Rumple._ Always.

She hates that most of all.

"I hate him, Maleficent." She doesn't know when she started crying, or when he friend came and put her arms around her. "I hate him, I hate him so much …"

And then Regina is sobbing on her shoulder, as she whispers the words over and over again, and Maleficent holds her tight and strokes her hair.

"I know. It's alright, it's alright. Shh, I know."

And she does. Maleficent knows the truth of it, in a way that no one else could. She knows why Regina hates Rumplestiltskin with such a passion.

It's because hatred is the only way she can let him into her heart.


End file.
